“So you see, my dear, there is no chance of your being superseded on the household throne, for since Britomarte will not be my wife, no other woman shall.” “Oh Justin, what a pity. But if she will not be your wife, she shall be your sister and mine. She shall come here, and share my home and means.” “She would never do that; she is much too proud to be dependent, even on those who love and honor her most.” “Then what will become of her? for oh, Justin, it is whispered that—that——” “_What?_” inquired the young man, seeing his sister grow pale and large-eyed as she paused. “That—oh, it is too horrible to breathe—that——” “For Heaven’s sake, speak, Erminie!” “—The house is the resort of conspirators, who plan—plan—no less a crime than—than—.” Her voice gradually sank to a whisper, and then stopped altogether. “Than what? Speak, my sister; take courage and speak!” “Oh, I cannot! I cannot! Spare me! it is too horrible!” “But what house is it to which you allude?” “Witch Elms.” “And it is said to be the resort of conspirators, who plan—what?” persisted Justin. “I cannot say it. I hope it is all a mere canard. Certainly the civil and the military authorities have both visited and ransacked the house, but they have discovered nothing there but what they call ‘the fossil remains of an old lady and two negroes,’ meaning Miss Pole, the centenarian aunt of Britomarte, and the two servants.” “Then the horrible story, whatever it may be, _is_ probably a mere canard, not worth our attention.” “But Britomarte! She cannot go there, even if her old relative would receive her. What will become of her? What can we do for her?” “We can do many things in this world, but we can do nothing with the will of a woman like Miss Conyers. We must leave her to the Lord and herself. And have you lived here quite alone all this time, my poor Erminie?” said Justin, pityingly. “Oh, no. I should have told you before, only there was so much to tell and to hear. Elfrida Fielding is with me. She is a refugee from Virginia. Her father is with General Meade at Gettysburg. We had a telegram from him yesterday. He is wounded but not dangerously, and is coming home on leave.” “Then they are on the right side.” “Thank Heaven, yes! But they have suffered very much for their devotion to the Union; they have had their house burned over their heads by the Secessionists, and they escaped the flames only through the fidelity of an old family servant. They have been here ever since. At least this is Elfie’s home always, and her father’s whenever he comes to see her.” “That is right, my sister. Let the home of our heroic father be the refuge of all whom the war has made homeless, and who seek its threshold. But where is my little friend now? I should be glad to see her.”